Putin’s Macabre Dance

He arrogantly jumped out of the starting block long before the gun roared. He was deluded into thinking the race was a sprint but now, he is faced with an agonizing marathon. Yet, he rages on like a bull in a china shop, shattering windows of hope and breaking the utensils of peace. In his recklessness, he displays no regard for lives, both of his own people and of his opponents. In his unpreparedness, he underestimated his opponents’ will to resist his tyranny. In his hurried adventure, he disregarded his forces’ morale and bungled logistics. He is frustrated to see his firepower curtailed and his aggression repelled by what he thought was a ragtag army. His military reverses belie his claim to a world power status. In place of victories, he is counting corpses and hauling his men into hospitals at unprecedented rates. Out of desperation and to assuage his people’s restlessness, he placed price tags on the dead and the wounded. Yet, like the historical Pharaoh, he doubles down on his misadventure, driving his forces furiously to the edge of the precipice. 

Putin is in a macabre dance urged on by fewer drummers than he had anticipated. Having been isolated into a pariah status, he goes cap in hand, begging for supplies and trade. How are the mighty fallen? In the meantime, he emasculates the growing opposition at home and feeds his dominated sheep with unbalanced hay of propaganda.  

Sure, his end is near. His dark cloud of terror will not long possess the sky. There shall be a rain of joy and the dawn of peace. He will drink from the cup of his fury and stray into the pit of destruction he dug. And, to be sure, Ukraine shall know peace, and Russia shall be free.

GRACE

Undeserved, yet given.

Unmerited, yet bestowed.

Unimaginable, yet granted. 

Unsought help,

Unexpected intervention. 

Stranger than fiction;

Unbelievably true. 

Grace pushes the envelope,

Erases history,

Cheers the present,

Redefines the future. 

It’s water in a wearied desertland,

A light in the dungeon,

A hope that despatches despair,

A strength that trumps weakness. 

It’s futile trying to unravel God’s grace -

It’s way beyond the realm of humans. 

It’s just enough to enjoy it.

It’s just okay to bask in its glow.

Lord, Have Mercy On Twitter

Lord, have mercy on Twitter, for it has sinned. The proud and arrogant Twitter has dared to fiddle with the tail of a cobra. Basking on the euphoria of its successful ban on Donald J. Trump – the then most powerful man in the world, Twitter has last week moved to quickly delete the Nigerian President’s harmless tweet.  Twitter has sinned and must crawl on its knees for mercy. Twitter has an exaggerated opinion about its self-importance and powers. Just because its annual turnover of $3.72 billion is 10% of Nigeria’s 2021 budget does not give it the audacity to vet our President’s tweet.  Not even the fact that its army of 353 million daily users overwhelms Nigeria’s projected population of 200 million gives Twitter the effrontery to challenge our highly revered leader.  It was a gross miscalculation on Twitter’s part. The company should have known it could only flex its muscles in climes where institutions were strong and where human rights were inalienable rights. 

Dear Lord, have mercy on Twitter, for it has sinned.  By its unpardonable sin, Twitter has angered our nation’s indefatigable Minister of Information and frustrated our cerebral Attorney General and Minister for Justice. These are men that are not just in government but also in power. They are the very best of our nation and speak the truth eloquently and consistently on behalf of the government and the people. To anger them is to court our trouble.  Nigerians are ready to take up arms in defense of these men who have the ears and the mouth of our president.  Which explains why Nigerians are as mad as hell. In their anger, they have been using VPN to bypass the Twitter ban just so they can lambast the micro blogging site and praise the action of their quiet and uncompromising leader and his cohorts. Twitter should have let the sleeping dog lie and not disturb the celebrated pace of our nation’s legendary go-slow and laissez-faire governance. 

Lord, have mercy, for Twitter did not only sin, it has caused our respected Pastors Enoch Adejare Adeboye and Williams Folorunso Kumuyi to sin against you and the divine authority. They each twitted in defiance of the ban instead of praying for God to prolong the life of the president. They should have seen that the president meant well with his timely tweet that only disgruntled elements consider an insult on the nation’s  sensibilities. This unscrupulous Twitter has made two of the nation’s most popular clergies find their voices and fight on the side of the people - a feat that the seeming collapse of the security apparatus and the dehumanizing economic woes could not achieve. 

Dear Lord, have mercy on Twitter for deleting our leader’s tweet. Have mercy on our leaders for deleting ‘we the people’ from being their first constitutional responsibility.  Have mercy on us all for deleting our leaders as inconsequential to our individual and national aspirations.  Lord, have mercy!

NIGERIA @ 61: A Curtain Drawn

I see a curtain drawn

On drift and graft;

On indiscipline and inefficiency;

On shame;

On poverty. 

I see the Light shining in, 

Displacing the thick darkness. 

I see the sickening cloud 

Giving way to abundance of rain. 

Hope in the horizon

Makes my heart glad. 

God forbid that I curse

A nation the Lord has blessed;

That I contribute to your pain;

Or, hasten your slide into perdition. 

I pledge to be a foot soldier, 

Displaying and promoting the best of you. 

Till the promised deliverance I see. 

Happy Independence to all that work and wait for your rising.

I’VE GOT TO BE RICH - The Confession of a Nigerian Teenager

What’s the hullabaloo about the teenage secondary school boys that recently killed a girlfriend for rituals in Abeokuta? And what’s the noise about the three boys (14-16 years) that left Delta State for Edo State, with alleged knowledge of their parents, to hustle and get a share of a multi-billion naira Yahoo-Yahoo business?

Let me introduce myself. I am a Nigerian teenager with only one swan song: “I’ve got to be rich.” The music is sweet to my ears; its lyrics drive me crazy. I go into a frenzy thinking about it. My heart pounds with ecstasy just imagining what it will be like to be rich. What else can I be if I am not rich? A scumbag? A rejected cornerstone? An example of a son you pray not to have? I vehemently reject those descriptions. They are not my portion in Jesus’ name!

I’ve got to be rich. And that’s it! I need money to win the hearts of my family members. Yes, I mean that, as sacrilegious as it may sound. Let’s be honest, principled parents are an endangered species. The good ones are old and locked in their rooms - too fragile to discipline, too vulnerable to wield any influence. All the grandpas and the grandmas do now is eat, sleep and recall the good times. It looks to me like the sheep of integrity and patient endurance have all abandoned the staple, leaving behind ravenous wolves. Today’s parents have no qualms. They are an anything-goes generation. The child that brings in the most money wins their hearts and gets celebrated. The family bond is no longer held by unconditional love but by performance. To be sure, performance parameters have shifted from academics to money. I know that. My friends know that. We know the way to the hearts of our parents and by extension the hearts of our siblings. When they tell us to remember the sons of whom we are. We know what they mean - go out there and make it big, whatever it takes. Who will blame us for pandering to the ones we love the most?

I’ve got to be rich. It is settled. The society has no enviable place for me without money. Nobody judges the contents of your character anymore. Everyone looks at your dress, your car, your house… It’s about the outward. It’s about what you have now. Dreams are considered inconsequential and hopes are in relegation. It’s the now that matters. So, process has been consigned to the dustbin of history and results have taken the centre stage. The end, as they say, justifies the means. Examples of this maxim abound in our politics, in our communities and in the marketplaces. So, what’s wrong in me mirroring the societal values? Can one tree make a forest? How do you survive in a culture of unbridled embezzlement by politicians and public officers? How do you handle the endemic corruption on our highways, at our borders, in our schools, and in our offices? I beg, I am not seeking to be a saint. Saints are usually canonized after they die. I doubt if anyone in this century is thinking of sainthood. The hood of money is too alluring and far more relevant now than the pain of a futuristic sainthood.

I’ve got to be rich. And no one should try to stop me. The last time I was in church, which is going to months now, the pastor mentioned money more than he mentioned Jesus. Aren’t we being hypocritical when we say, ‘What God cannot do does not exist’, when in reality we mean money and not God? To this generation, the love of money is not the root of all evil but the beauty and the essence of all life. That’s why rich people have the ears of the religious leaders and earn the respect of the faithfuls. Even in the religious houses where all men are supposed to worship God as equals, the rich still call the shots. It is obvious the rich are more equal than the rest of us. Would you blame me if I do all I can - legal or illegal, decorous or obscene- to be rich?

I’ve got to be rich. I shall spare no effort, reject no trick, and exhibit no conscience. I shall fear no danger; not even death. Afterall, what’s more dangerous than living without money? And isn’t a poor man a corpse walking on two legs?

I’ve got to be rich. Please wish me luck.

Victory In Defeat

When you are the mighty pitched against the weak, you have to be careful how you win. A massive win by you might be the very loss you detest. You are left fuming at your victory parade, alarmed that no one is applauding. You wonder why the shouts of your victory are drowned by the cries of your atrocities. You wonder why your huge victory pales into insignificance when compared to the feeble but determined resistance of the weak. You ask why yours is might and his is right. You ask again why yours was an ignominious victory and his was an honourable defeat. You are left wondering why the weak, battered and shattered, limps to the wild applause of your friends and foes. You watch with disdain your defeated opponent smile in pain as he takes a lap of honour. You suspect foul play as the ‘loser’ revels in your lack of discretion and of a clear endgame. Silently, you regret your thoughtless action. But you are too much of an arrogant dog to apologize and change course. Your dog, destined to be lost, is deaf to the sound of the hunter’s whistle. You are discredited and stripped of your last ounce of honour. 

You are Russia, he is Ukraine. And you have just suffered a heavy defeat in victory.

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Please pray for peace in Ukraine.

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